


Not Meant For Me

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Haunted [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've been up all night.<br/>I've seen things that frighten me.<br/>Tell me it's all right.<br/>Tell me, you'll stay with me?</p><p>For the prompt: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html?thread=31193435#t31193435">Something inspired by the song Keep Dreaming by The Pineapple Thief.</a> Title, summary and epigraph are from the song. Again, there is a lot of abusive stuff alluded to, but nothing outright mentioned or described.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Meant For Me

_I've been awake all night.  
Hoping you'll frighten me.  
Keep me from shouting out this time.  
Stop me from seeing things not meant for me?_

 

 _GET OUT_

There was no time to stop or question the text from Arthur. Ariadne and Eames threw all of their things into their bags; whatever was forgotten in the rush could easily be replaced. Ariadne had the ID she had used to enter Egypt as well as two other identities, but didn't tell Eames or Arthur which one she would use. Eames had four others, but there was no point in trying to pick one at the moment. It didn't matter, as long as they got out of Alexandria alive. They would find each other again. He had packed Arthur's things in his, and Ariadne had some of his other belongings. There was nothing in Arthur's room to find, not even fingerprints. They had been careful.

Eames literally crashed into Arthur in one of the dingy areas of Alexandria and barely managed to keep hold of his carry on bag. "Fucking idiot," Arthur snarled. Eames could hear the worry beneath the anger. "I told you to get out."

"I was," he replied. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"You know someone in Alexandria?" Arthur asked, brows furrowed.

"I know lots of people. Is it Adeeb after you?"

"Adeeb's dead. The job was a trap for him. Pietro was shot, I don't know where he went. Their extractor's dead."

Eames didn't even think when he saw a shadow approach from the end of the alley. He yanked on Arthur's arm and pulled him down another alleyway. He zig zagged at random intervals, dragging Arthur behind him. Eames finally tumbled through an open doorwayhint only to stop short when they saw the figures huddled in front of him. He tried a few scattered phrases in random languages, which none of the people understood. It looked like an old woman and her three grandchildren, though it would be hard to say what the actual relationships were. Arthur said something in halting Arabic, and their faces eased slightly. They still looked tense.

"What did you say?"

"'No harm' and 'please hide,'" Arthur said, sinking to the floor. There was quiet in the alleyway behind them, but Eames stayed ready and alert. They looked like tourists being hunted by pickpockets, but that didn't mean very much if people had their backs against the wall. Grandmothers were capable of nasty business if threatened. Arthur was always armed, and he had his own weapons. He tried not to think of Ariadne getting onto a plane. She wouldn't have anything on her at all, and she wasn't the violent sort. She could handle a gun in a panic, but he didn't think she had it in her to kill someone with premeditation.

"Good phrases to know," Eames murmured, keeping himself between the door and Arthur. "What happened?"

"We did the job. They just didn't feel like letting any of us live."

There was anger behind the quiet words. Eames didn't know how he felt about knowing it was there. He would have rather felt as though Arthur was like stone, unflappable to the last. "We can't stay here long."

"Who else do you know in Alexandria?"

"I know a bloke in Cairo," Eames said finally, the syllables like ash in his mouth. "I'd rather not go, but we might have to."

"Will that be enough? You don't even know who hired me."

"Do I really need to?" Eames replied. Arthur opened his mouth to reply but there was the sound of shouting and footsteps racing past the house they were hiding in. The grandmother and the children looked around wild eyed. Eames hated to think of what might happen if they caught sight of their guns or if it came to a shoot out. "Anyone bringing down Adeeb is dangerous, Arthur," Eames said in a soft voice, not looking at him. His eyes were on the door, in case he needed to pull his Sig Sauer. "I don't need to know who it is to know that we need to get the hell out of this city."

"Agreed."

"Do you know enough to ask if there's another way out of here?"

"You're lucky I remembered that much. It's not like I use Arabic on a regular basis."

"Good point," Eames conceded. The thought of going back to Cairo made his skin crawl, more for what he knew would happen once they got there. Still, it was the best and closest place to go right now. He would have to deal with the fallout later, though he was more likely to simply bullshit his way through.

He mentally counted out two minutes before easing his stance. "How'd you learn Arabic in the first place?"

"Hard to miss when I was in Iraq," Arthur said dryly. "Think we can head out now?"

"Another minute. Do you remember how to say thank you?"

Arthur shot him a dirty look and then smoothed his features into a calm expression. He stumbled over a formal thank you, then nodded at Eames so they could leave. They moved swiftly and as quietly as possible through the maze of alleyways; Arthur had memorized a map of various neighborhoods days ago just in case something like this happened. Usually he wound up memorizing maps for nothing, but this time it came in handy. Things like this happened just often enough that the habit had been a good one to keep. Other team members sometimes called him anal retentive or obsessive, but he would rather be called obsessive than be dead.

Eames followed Arthur's lead with a carefully schooled expression on his face. Just another calm mask, a ready lie in case he was asked why he was there. He was just as prepared as Arthur, though he never went so far as to memorize maps of new cities. Perhaps the point man was onto something.

Arthur and Eames made it to the train station without incident, but it didn't ease their vigilance. They sat across from each other in a train car, Arthur's eyes sharp and bright as they assessed Eames. "So you know someone in Cairo."

"I know people in most places," Eames replied tonelessly. "Or I know people that know people."

"And this one in Cairo?"

"One I know."

"Who is it?" Arthur asked, curious.

"Why? Plan to update that dossier you have on me?" Eames asked, bitterness in his voice.

"Ariadne told you about them?" Eames nodded. "I make dossiers on everyone I've worked with, even her. Nothing personal."

"Has she seen hers?"

"She's never asked," Arthur replied with a shrug. "She can look at it anytime. Do you want to see yours?"

Eames eyed Arthur warily. "What's in it?"

"I made it the first time we worked together, so it's mostly references of your work until that time and some of your childhood records."

Eames went very still at that. Arthur was being matter of fact, so he knew this was the truth. "What do you have?"

"It's spotty," Arthur began, watching Eames closely. "Dates, school records. Then nothing until you showed up as Eames."

"How'd you even find the childhood things?"

"One of the first confirmed jobs you did mentioned the name." Arthur paused. "It bothers you that I know that much."

Eames looked away, face blank. "So of course Ariadne read it."

"She did. It was during the job you hired us for, the one where you got shot." Afterward they had all slept together, and since then were all tip toeing their way to some kind of triad relationship. Sometimes it worked flawlessly, sometimes not. This appeared to be one of those difficult times.

"So you get to update your file and tell her all about it," Eames said, looking back at Arthur with dead eyes.

"I haven't updated it since I made it."

That surprised Eames. "Why not?"

"I was looking to see if there were reasons not to trust you. If there was anything in your file that would bite me in the ass."

"Or Cobb," Eames guessed.

"That, too," Arthur said with a nod. "He had enough enemies."

"So you trust me, then?"

"Yes, I do."

"Probably a mistake," Eames intoned.

"I don't think so. Neither does Ariadne." Arthur clearly meant more than just work, and Eames had to look away from that intense gaze. "What are you hiding, Eames? What don't you want us to see?"

"You can tell Ariadne what you find," Eames said uncomfortably.

"You can tell her yourself."

Eames remained silent for a long while. "Some things aren't worth telling," he said finally. "Some things are best forgotten." It was probably the most honest he had been in a long time.

Arthur's reply was cut off by the chime of their cell phones. It was a text from Ariadne: _safe. omw home. <3 u._

Eames hit reply before Arthur could: _Found A. Will get back eventually, when safe._

It wasn't until he hit send that he felt bad about not returning her affectionate closing. He looked up at Arthur, seeing a flash of concern there before it smoothed out. "What?"

"Who are we going see, Eames? Can't we leave without their help?"

Eames' gut clenched at Arthur's quiet words. "Maybe. But it would be longer and harder to do that." He sent another text and looked at Arthur with hollow eyes. "You need to get home in one piece."

"What about you?" Arthur asked quietly. "Or are you leaving us?"

He wanted to say that he wasn't sure. He wanted to say no. He wanted to have this conversation over with.

"If you still want me there, I'll go back with you."

"Do you want to be there?" There was a thread of pain in Arthur's voice, and it reminded Eames of Arthur's words before this all started. It wouldn't be a one time thing for them. They loved him, wanted him to stay with them. It wasn't because their relationship was failing, wasn't because he was a fun toy to play with. They wanted him to stay with them, but wouldn't pressure him. It would hurt them if he left, but they would let him do it if he wanted to.

Eames thought of lying, but nodded. Arthur relaxed; no one else would have seen the tension there and it disturbed Eames that he could. He didn't want to know that they both genuinely loved him. He would rather needle Arthur, trying to get him to respond in kind. Anger was easier to tolerate than love. It was cleaner, sharper, something he was used to. It wasn't pretty, but it was something he knew well.

Arthur didn't push for the rest of the train trip. Eames was at once absurdly grateful and annoyed by it. People that didn't matter to him didn't press, didn't care. They disappeared at the end of a job, only to return if there was a new one. Some part of him wanted Arthur to press. It would hurt, but it would tell Eames that he cared. The pain would make it real. He would have to slip on new masks to hide how badly it hurt, but he wouldn't have to check his watch. Even now, closing his hand over it wasn't as comforting as it should have been. Mostly because he dreaded what would come next. He was slicing himself open for Arthur, risking letting his nightmares loose. He knew Arthur well enough to know that the point man wouldn't take advantage of what he learned. Yet. He would file it away for later, to synthesize at his leisure. Arthur had learned to be practical - survival first, questions later.

No, Eames trusted Arthur with his nightmares. He didn't trust _himself_ with them.

Arthur followed Eames out of the station and didn't say anything when Eames directed a cabbie to take them to the British Embassy. He simply behaved as if they had every right to be there, which naturally kept people from asking him stupid questions. It was usually helpful and comforting. Eames currently found it to be grating on his nerves. He wanted to lash out and snap at him, hurt him, make him lash back. Arthur never did, no matter how annoying Eames could be.

The bottled blonde receptionist was a good replacement target. "We're here to speak with Spencer Pierce," Eames said. His voice was amiable, but his eyes were not. They dared her to protest.

She worked at an embassy and they were strangers. Of course she protested. "I'm sorry, but Ambassador Pierce is not to be disturbed this afternoon," she said in a cool voice.

"Tell him his ten o'clock is here," Eames replied, a thread of quiet menace in his tone. "We'll wait until you confirm it."

Arthur remained silent as the blonde called into the office to ask about their presence. His face was impassive, but Eames could see the burning curiosity in his eyes when he looked back. The blonde looked as if she tasted something sour. "The Ambassador will see you now."

"Of course he will," Eames replied imperiously.

Arthur nodded at her. "Thank you."

Ambassador Spencer Pierce was older than Eames, with a slight paunch that wasn't hidden by his linen suit. He had dark hair shot through with gray, warm brown eyes and laugh lines. He was Eames' height and had a long stride as he came toward them with a huge grin on his face. "Benjamin! By God, I thought you'd fallen off the face of the earth!"

Eames was swallowed up in an effusive hug, and all he could do was awkwardly return it. Arthur's expression was shocked, though he schooled it back to impassivity after a moment. Eames disentangled himself rather gracefully for all his discomfort. "Spence. Sorry to throw myself on you last minute this way."

Pierce clapped Eames on the shoulder fondly. "Anything for family, Ben. So what trouble are you in?"

"I'm not rightly sure," Eames replied. "Spence, this is Arthur. He might've run afoul of folks in Alexandria."

Arthur remained still under Pierce's scrutiny. He was used to that, and didn't know what Pierce knew regarding dream share. "I didn't stop to ask questions once guns were drawn," he said. "They killed another man in front of me and I didn't want to follow that example."

"Reasonable, that," Pierce agreed. His crisp Received Pronunciation accent was clearer than Eames'; obviously Eames had mimicked one accent too many, and they had all blurred and softened the edges of his speech. "Do sit down. Need any refreshment, then?"

Eames wanted a stiff drink, but needed to stay sober. Arthur didn't drink on the job. Pierce wasn't offended and merely sat at his desk. "You'll have to tell me what happened, of course." Pierce sighed. "At least so I know what I have to suppress."

"Adeeb is dead," Eames told him shortly.

Pierce winced. "Well, fuck. You're probably in a world of hurt, then. Best to start with a new identity and get you the hell out of the country. I can untangle the mess afterward."

"Thank you," Arthur told him sincerely. Eames looked a bit discomfited but less tense. Pierce wouldn't betray them, then, and Arthur had to wonder if the family comment was literal or figurative. They didn't look remotely alike, though Arthur hadn't exactly dug deeply into his family tree.

Pierce nodded. "There's a spare room upstairs that you can use while I get documents ready. I've only one that's protected enough, sorry. You'll have to share."

"It's fine," Arthur assured him.

"No one knows I'm even involved," Eames told Pierce. "I probably don't need the full job."

"Better to be safe than sorry. Knowing you, it may come in handy," Pierce said with a smile. There was something sad in it. "You should call your Mum."

"She won't want to hear from me," Eames replied shortly.

"Uncle Edgar died a year ago, Ben." Pierce's voice was quiet, soothing. It didn't settle Eames in the slightest. "Jess and Thad couldn't find you."

"I've kept my head down," Eames replied tersely.

Pierce ignored the tone. "Or at least you haven't used your real name. What name are you using now?"

"Doesn't matter. You're about to give me a new one."

Sighing, Pierce nodded. "Should I call your Mum and tell her I've seen you? Do you want Jess and Thad to know?"

"You can say I'm all right if you need to."

"Dammit, Ben!" Pierce cried, slamming his head flat down on the desk. "Whatever happened, it was years ago! Uncle Edgar is _dead._ Stop punishing your mother."

"I'm not punishing her," Eames said quietly. "She made her choices and I made mine. She was very clear on that."

"You're the one who left. Stop being vindictive." Pierce would have said more, but he suddenly realized he had an audience, and he wasn't willing to say more in front of Arthur.

"I'm not being vindictive," Eames said, his voice eerily calm. It gave Pierce pause, but Arthur got the feeling it was merely the calm before the storm. "She wanted nothing more to do with me. She sent me away, wouldn't accept me back at hols and told me I was as good as dead to her. She made her choice."

Pierce blanched. "Ben, I didn't know that. She said..."

"Of course you didn't. She's very good at playing a victim."

"She's your Mum, still."

"She stopped being Mum a long time ago, Spence. You're much too charitable toward her. You always were." Eames paused, his dead voice finally springing to life. "How could you get so far if you're such a bleeding optimist?"

"Optimism doesn't mean stupid, Benjamin." His eyes slid away from Eames' after a moment. "Give me a day, and I'll have papers ready for the both of you. Where are you headed?"

"Geneva," Eames said before Arthur could open his mouth.

They all stood, and Pierce clasped Eames' arm, drawing him back slightly. "What can you tell me, Ben?" he asked in a low tone, looking at Arthur.

"He's my friend, Spence. I introduced him to a few guys and now they're dead. Whatever she says about me, I don't leave friends to suffer if I can help it."

Whatever Pierce saw in Eames' face made him nod. "All right. I'll help."

"You would have anyway."

"Yes, because you asked. But the paperwork will be flawless, Ben. Take care of these identities."

"I will."

Pierce nodded, and led them personally to a private bedroom on one of the upper floors of the embassy. He assured them that no one would ever question their presence and there would be no one for them to answer to. Even so, once he was gone, Eames locked the door and they both began to look for any listening devices, cameras or monitoring equipment. As Pierce promised, the room was clean.

"Who is he?" Arthur asked softly.

"You mean you don't know?" Eames taunted, putting down the carry on bag.

"Don't start," Arthur warned.

"Why not?" Eames snapped. "You're just dying to know."

"And you want to tell me," Arthur challenged. "You just don't want to look too eager."

There was a crawling sensation along Eames' skin. He had anger and his vulnerability. He couldn't seem to find his other masks. If Arthur pushed back, he might break. Eames should let it drop, stop baiting him, but it was all he knew.

Well, not _all._

Eames grabbed Arthur and kissed him, a rough and angry tangle of lips and tongue and teeth, his large hands at the back of Arthur's head to keep him from pulling away. There was anger and lust and confusion in the kiss, a well of pain that Eames needed to cover up again. He had said too much in front of Pierce and Arthur was smart enough to read between the lines.

He didn't want to know the story that Arthur was piecing together. It might be accurate, it might not. Either way, Eames wanted to forget it.

Arthur gave himself over to the kiss and pulled Eames' shirt out of his pants. He unbuckled Eames' pants and dragged them down over his hips. The pocket watch thudded to the carpeted floor dully, making Eames pull back and break the kiss. "Did I break it?" Arthur asked as Eames carefully picked it up and put it on the dresser. "I'll get you a new one if I did."

Eames didn't check it. "It was broken when I got it," he replied, feeling chilled. The chill had nothing to do with his half naked state. Arthur had called him on his bluff, even if he might not have realized that it was one at the time. Eames could unbutton the shirt and finish this, but it still wouldn't distract Arthur.

The two men stared at each other. "Who is he?" Arthur asked.

"Second cousin by marriage," Eames admitted wearily. "Did stupid shit when I was a kid," he added. "He thinks he corrupted me and owes me for that."

"But he wasn't the one, was he?" Arthur guessed.

"No, he wasn't."

Arthur stepped forward and undid the buttons on Eames' shirt. Eames watched in silence as Arthur stripped himself of his layers until he was equally naked. "I'm sorry we're here, then," Arthur murmured. He came forward slowly, then wrapped his arms around Eames. It was a gentle touch, nothing demanding. "I don't know what it cost you to bring me here, Eames. I'm truly sorry."

Eames found himself gripping Arthur tightly. "You need to be safe."

"What about you?" Arthur asked softly, his mouth by Eames' ear.

They were both naked, but neither of them were unarmed. Both were well trained in hand to hand combat, and both knew that words could be weapons.

"I'll be fine."

"I have military experience," Arthur reminded him. "I did my four years in the Army. I can handle myself."

"I can't let you die if I can stop it," Eames told him. After a moment, the tension bled out of him and he let his chin drop to Arthur's shoulder. "I've nightmares about it enough already."

"Because of Adeeb's reputation?"

"Something like that."

"What did he do to you?" Arthur asked softly, his hands sliding down Eames' back in a tender caress.

"Adeeb? Nothing I couldn't handle," Eames hedged.

"I meant Edgar."

Immediately tensing, Eames would have run if Arthur's arms weren't around him. His breath was coming faster, damn it all. "Everything he shouldn't have."

Arthur pressed his open mouth against Eames' throat. "If I ever do something that reminds you of him, stop me."

That threw him for a loop. "What?"

"You can tell me if you want. If you can't, that's okay, too." Arthur's voice was soft and soothing, his hands running lightly over Eames' back. "But I won't let you just take it if I remind you of him. I want you thinking of _me."_ His voice was low but firm, that commanding tone he often took when outlining jobs. It was familiar and comforting for Eames, and he felt himself relaxing into Arthur's touch again. "Is that understood?"

"Yessir," Eames snarked.

"Eames..."

He held onto Arthur tightly. "Yeah. Understood."

The kiss was intense, tongues tangling and their hands all over each other. He let Arthur push him toward the bed. "What do you want?" Arthur asked against his mouth, his body poised over Eames'.

"To forget," Eames rasped, letting his eyes close in shame.

Arthur's hands were light over Eames' torso. "He hurt you, didn't he? Took what wasn't his to take?" Eames nodded, eyes shut tight. He didn't want to see pity in Arthur's gaze. "Then I probably won't remind you of him. Not my style at all," he said as Eames' eyes flew open. "I'd have you begging me to let you come, but I'd never take you by force."

Eames looked into Arthur's dark eyes and knew it was truth. "I never doubted that about you, Arthur."

"Good." His mouth ran over Eames' chest slowly, hands firmly holding him in place. Eames didn't feel trapped at all. If anything, it felt as if he was being protected from himself, as if Arthur could singlehandedly keep the memories at bay. His breath caught almost painfully in his chest, making Arthur pause and look up at him in concern. "Is this what you want? Or what you think I want?"

"Isn't it what you want?" Eames asked archly, looking at Arthur's aroused body.

Arthur chuckled and ran his fingers along Eames' chest as he sat back on his haunches. "Yes, true. But you don't have to make love just because I want to. And you started this anyway, you know."

"I _what?"_

"You kissed me first," Arthur told him in an amused tone. "Trying to distract me, I think." He shifted and kissed Eames' forehead. "No lies, no saying what you think I want to hear. I've been honest with you. I've always been honest with you."

Yes, he had. That made this all the more painful. "I'm being as honest as I know how to be," Eames said finally.

Arthur nodded. "Does this remind you of anything? Is that it? That's not what I want."

"You only want everything," Eames replied, a trace of fear and bitterness in his tone.

"No," Arthur said softly. "I want only what you're willing to give me. No more, no less. If you're not willing, I don't want it."

Eames closed his eyes with a pained expression. "I don't know how to be what you want."

"I just want you to be you."

"I don't know who that is anymore."

Arthur cupped Eames' face in his hands and then kissed his forehead. "Would you rather we get dressed, then?"

His eyes flew open. "What?"

"No need to rush into anything." Without waiting for Eames' response, Arthur got up from the bed and started to get dressed.

"But you obviously wanted to," Eames began in a feeble voice. "What the hell?"

"You don't get it, do you? It's not about sex. It's not about contacts. It's not about what I can get from you."

"Then what is it?"

Arthur managed to keep the pity from his expression, but only just. He pulled on his boxers and trousers, then approached Eames slowly. "I love you, asshole. You don't owe me anything." He pulled Eames up to his feet and kissed him, mouth hot and open. "God knows things would be simpler if I didn't. But I do. And so does Ariadne. We don't want you because of what you can give us. We just love you."

"Arthur..."

"We're not leaving you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The intensity was still here, and Eames could feel each finger of his hands pressing into his waist. "You might leave us, you might not. But we'd always be there for you. We'd never do anything to betray that trust. Tell us what you feel comfortable telling us. I know sometimes you have to do fucked up shit to survive. I _know._ Sometimes you have to trade away pieces of yourself to get the job done. I've done it, too. I don't judge you for that and you know that Ariadne would never judge you."

"You can't love someone you don't know," Eames protested. It was the same protest he'd made when Ariadne had let it slip that they were thinking of him in a romantic sense and not just as a coworker. "You don't know anything true about me."

"I think we know quite a bit," Arthur told him. He let his hands slide down Eames' back. "We trust you, Eames. Don't you trust us?"

"Yeah. 'Course I do." He didn't even have to think about it.

"Then you don't trust yourself."

Eames let out a sigh. "Arthur..."

"We won't hurt you, Eames," Arthur said quietly. "Whatever happens, whatever nightmares this brings up for you, we'll be here." He simply held Eames loosely, so that he could pull away if he wanted to. "I will do everything in my power to help you."

He should have been terrified. He should have been discomfited. Instead, Eames felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. "You're not leaving me, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

"You should be scared of me," Eames said, moving to clasp his hands around Arthur's throat. "I could kill you. I could kill Ariadne. You don't know me."

"You won't," Arthur said, making no move to stop Eames. "You love us. You want to be with us."

It was a calculated move, but one that Arthur was correct about. Eames never tightened his hands. "There's nothing inside if you dig down deep enough. You shouldn't trust that."

"We're not leaving you, Eames," Arthur told him quietly. "We won't."

Eames dropped his head onto Arthur's shoulder and let the other man simply hold him. He was tired, so tired, and he felt wrung out completely. He hadn't even said a word about the years before he had met Arthur, but he felt them slick and dirty on his skin. Somehow, Arthur still wanted to be with him. He knew Ariadne did, too. Neither of them found him wanting in some way, even if he felt that there was nothing staring back at him in the mirror. He held onto Arthur painfully tight, but Arthur merely stood there holding him. "I do love you," he whispered brokenly. "God help me, I do love you and Ariadne."

"I know," Arthur said, holding him. "We'll figure this out, Eames."

Fingers tight on Arthur's shoulders now, Eames pressed his face against Arthur's neck. "I don't know if even you can make it all go away."

"The trick isn't to make it go away," Arthur said softly, stroking Eames' back. "It's to find a way to deal with it, to make it so that it doesn't consume you." He pulled gently on Eames hair so that he could look him in the eye. "I'll help, Eames. You don't have to do it alone."

"Thank you," Eames rasped.

"Come to bed," Arthur said after a moment. He shook his head firmly when Eames reached for his pants again. "Just sleep, Eames."

Eames curled up on the bed around Arthur, feeling stupid. He was acting like a frightened child, ready to cry as soon as there was a loud sound. But he felt soothed as Arthur stroked his hair, an arm around him. He let his eyes close, sure that he would have some kind of nightmare once he fell asleep. It was the only kind of real dreaming he did on his own anymore. But for some reason, he felt almost comfortable. Arthur didn't need the details, yet he understood anyway. Maybe he would be enough to keep the monsters at bay. Maybe just being there would help keep Eames from seeing the things he didn't want to see. In the month since this had all started, he had come the closest to feeling whole and human.

Trusting in Arthur, Eames fell asleep. He didn't dream.

The End.


End file.
